The Bet.
by Cairnsy
Summary: Manipulation, romance, mind games. A 'simple' bet is always destined to never be one. Marcus/Percy, Oliver/Percy
1. Default Chapter

**The Bet.**

Author's notes: Strange, what can come when you sit down and simply write, with no particular plan in mind. Even stranger, the voice that makes itself heard when you are desperately trying to come up with a title. 

Voice: Hey, why not use a Shakespeare quote as the title for each of the chapters?   
Cairnsy: Huh? I don't use chapter titles, I'm tying to think of the title for the actual *story*.   
Voice: Well, you can use a Shakespeare quote for that, as well!   
Cairnsy: But I don't even like most of Shakespeare's plays!   
Voice: Tough. I am the voice, I must be obeyed. 

So, blame the convoluted titles on _the voice_. To those who can identify where each of the quotes comes from, big props ^_^. As many of the Shakespeare plays I like are some of his minor ones, good luck in placing some of the more difficult ones! 

And just because this is the season for overly long author's notes, this 'little' fic was never supposed to see the light of day. It's what I classify as my throw away fic, the story I work on when I don't want to think or worry about things that tend to be rather important, like characterisation or plot. So, this is purely for fun. Don't expect anything even close to half decent. Big hugs as always to WT2. 

Second chapter coming out later today. 

**Chapter one: But For My Sport and Profit.**

_Marcus Flint._

You can learn a lot, staying at Hogwarts over Christmas. With the thinning of students comes a greater ability to watch and study others, not that I would admit such a habit to anyone else. Flaws become more visible, and secrets not quite so, when the students left behind let their masks slip, drawn in by the false security of half empty tables and self preoccupation. 

They never seem to realise just how open they are leaving themselves, not until it is too late. By then, I always tend to have enough information to make sure my holiday at least is ... enjoyable. 

House divisions fade, I've also learnt, during these Christmas weeks. You socialise with whomever you please, although we often remain, as we are, proud Slytherins who are far above all others. Even when there are only a handful of us here, we prefer our own company to that which is tainted by mock wisdom or a belief of power or innocence. 

No one is innocent. Naive, yes. But never innocent. 

My eyes fall on a third year, alone by the fire in the Great Hall. I have yet to decide why she remains, for which reason she shuns her home, or it her. For, one thing you also learn over Christmas, is that all of us who are here are misfits of some form, that we each have our own from of rejection. Be it the 5th year who wishes to escape the confinements of a rigid family, the 4th year whose parents have no time for her, the 6th year who has lost himself in an unredeemable crush. 

The 7th year who is powerless at home, but always in control, always safe, here. 

A friend snarls in the direction of where a group of Gryffindors sit with a pair of Ravenclaws. I merely rise an eyebrow, regarding the table with dim curiosity. The Weasley family is there, as they always are. They're betrayal is the social system, or perhaps simply poor contraception. I let my eyes linger on the oldest one, and a smile tugs at my lips as he turns disapprovingly to one of the twins. Percy is always a source of amusement during these winter weeks, perhaps this year I will be able to break his famed control enough so that he really does 'flip out', as Lana used to always say. 

My smile slips into a growl as Oliver Wood suddenly looks up from the book he is ready, and sees us watching his group. He glares at us with a cold anger, practically daring us to cross the room and beat him to a pulp. I have yet to figure out why he stays behind, and it is something that frustrates me. Not every year, but most. Warm words spoken about his family, weekly care packages from them. No-one stays behind, without a reason. 

Drake moans at my side, complaining about being bored. It breaks my concentration, but perhaps it was time to put aside such thoughts for now. The others mutter on, devising plans to humiliate and embarrass, and I pitch in occasionally with some ideas of my own. 

"If I didn't know you better, Marcus, I would say you had an obsession with that Weasley kid." Bothemius says it coldly, like only a true Slytherin can. I snort, taking a sip of the hot chocolate in front of me. 

"It took you this long to notice? I've only been trying to take him down a notch or two for 7 years, now." 

That perfect fucking Weasley. Always better, always smarter, always in control. The only time he ever loses it, is when someone manages to hassle him enough. Of course, perfect Percy is known for having only 2 or so emotions in the first place, so getting him to lose control over them is difficult as hell. I've never seen anyone succeed. 

The victory will only be sweeter, as a result. 

"You haven't done a fabulous job at it, have you?" The words are said with mockery, but we both know that he hasn't had any more success than I've had at riling the Weasley. Oh, we've gained points for making him blush, or occasionally leaving him speechless. But those are petty one-ups, not even close to the effect either of us have hoped to have. It is fairly easy to embarrass him, but the prize lies in making those masks of his slip. 

"Perhaps that is where we can all get our entertainment from this year," Draco Malfoy chimes in, although we all practically ignore him. It is fine to use family power to lord over students in other houses, it is not to do so to those in your own. He notes our disinterest - that is what happens when you want to play with the big boys, kid - and I can tell he is about to say something over the top to try and regain our attention, as he always does. He seems to believe that idiotic ideas have their roots in intelligence. "A bet, to see who can make him lose control." 

"Malfoy, we do that on a daily basis," He turns red at my harsh words. At least he managed to pick up this time that I was insulting him; too often attacking words don't penetrate his thick hide of arrogance. 

"I meant more than that," he replies with a hiss, and I'm about ready to dismiss him. He is the youngest at our table; we tolerate him only because we feel like it. The boy has always craved power, and we are the ones who hold it. "As a bet, we ... we target a particular way of bringing him down!" He seems pleased that he managed to come up with that idea on the fly, and that we 'obviously' didn't notice that it hadn't been part of his original plan. I make no attempt to hide the rolling of my eyes, and briefly I wonder why he even bothers to pretend he cares about annoying the eldest Weasley, when he finds more fun in trying to embarrass the younger one. 

"Such as what?" I'm surprised that Drake even bothers to reply, but then I catch the mostly concealed interest that lurks in his on again/off again lover's eyes. Bothemius thinks there might be some potential here, and Drake picks up on it as quickly as an eagle does a rat. My surprise is nothing when compared to Draco's, whose laughable mask of control slips. 

"I, I.." 

"You've been fighting this battle on a ground where you are doomed to fail," Marlena practically purrs from my side, her hand resting playfully on my knee. I smirk as Draco tries vainly to hide his jealousy - he has no problem being cut off by the bewitching 7th year, it is the fact that she flirts so openly with all of us, myself in particular, but never him which does it. She has been quiet throughout the conversation, but only because she has been listening and planning herself. She also has seen the possible use of Draco's line of thinking. "Perhaps if we focus on one thing you do ... well," the hand slips higher, as does Draco's anger, "you can get your well deserved victory." 

It is no surprise that this would come back to me. We are not selfish with our victories, our little group. While all of us 7th years have some issue with the Head Boy, they know that this is a prize that I desire above almost all others. I have long been victorious over Oliver Wood, his one love is Quidditch, and it is a love I have destroyed on many occasions with my team. While I will never grow tired of the utter frustration I can cause him, nor will there be any rivalry greater than what I still have with him, there are times when a single success can outweigh a continuous one. I had played to my strengths to beat Oliver. Some would say, I had exhausted my only strength to beat him. Well, except one. 

"Are you suggesting I throw him to the ground and fuck him senseless?" I reply with deliberate lust, and this time it is Marlena that Draco is jealous of. Transparent does not even begin to describe the child. Dropping my tone to one of false seductiveness, I lean into her, continuing the jest. "Or, perhaps, against a wall? That has always been one of your favourite places, hasn't it, Marlena?" 

"I think you might just have caught on." I'm startled from the game as she smiles back at me, but with undeniable seriousness in her eyes. "You've never been able to match his wits, darling. But even Draco here knows more about sex than puritan Percy." Drake doesn't even try and conceal his laugh as Draco preens, mistaking Marlena's jibe as a compliment. 

"The seduction of Percy Weasley. That is certainly something that would be fun to watch," Bothemius muses. "That said, I think you would have A better chance trying to romance a log. It would provide you with better sex, in any case." Even Draco picks out on the challenge in his voice. I raise an eyebrow coldly, inwardly letting my thoughts race over this new development. I am not one to ever back down for a challenge however, and my reply comes almost instantly. 

"I believe that Malfoy suggested that this be a bet?" The idiot nods wildly from the other side of the table, as though he is a puppy who has done something good, and is now being complimented. As though a conspiracy is about to unfold, the others lean towards me, eyes dancing with glee. 

"50 Galleons," Bothemius states. Marlena looks concerned for a moment, her 'allowance' has been cut off by her parents, and I'm sure she will have a little trouble getting together the money in the case she loses. Neither Draco nor Drake have such a problem, so they do nothing but nod. "4 weeks, to bed the brat. That is when school starts. My 50 is on you getting shot down." 

I'm never shot down, when it comes to sex. The challenge has become two fold. 

"I'm going to have to agree with Bothemius here," Drake agrees. That doesn't surprise me, as the two are usually on the same wave length. I punch Marlena lightly on the arm when she nods also, a look of mock disappointment firmly on my face. 

"What, you don't think I can do it, babe?" I pout. "This was all your idea, but even you won't support me in my hour of need? Will no one?" 

"I will," Draco speaks up haughtily. 

Shut up, Malfoy. 

"Looks like you are about to get your first opportunity to have a go at him," Drake points to the Gryffindor table, where all but Percy are about to leave from. For a moment, it looks like Oliver has managed to persuade my target to go with them, and I frown in distaste. Percy's books seem to convince him that they are far better company than the group of idiots in the end, and he remains, alone at the table as the others scurry out. 

"Now would be a perfect time," Draco agrees coolly, and nothing could convince me otherwise that he is a rank amateur when it comes to something like this. 

"Yes," I reply snidely. "Why don't I just go over there, no plan, no preparation, and when the entire Slytherin table is watching with anticipation. He is sure to suspect nothing is foul." The others snicker, and Draco lamely tries to make it appear as though he said something that stupid deliberately. My words do snap Drake into action, however, and he rises from the table, the others following. 

"We will see you in the common room, later. We're doing no good for you by staying here." With a parting smile, they are gone, and I am left with only my thoughts. 

Seduction is something I have always done well, but Percy is not the type I usually seduce. I get up and seat myself where Marlena had been sitting, providing a better view of the Head Boy. He is not exactly attractive, although I wouldn't say he doesn't have a nice look to him. Tall, wiry, he certainly isn't elegant in his stride. His hair is, much to his own distaste I am sure, wild and fiery, a brilliant red that rivals that of the sunset. The freckles that sprinkle down his nose and across his cheeks are far lighter than that of his brothers, a result of not knowing the sun as intimately as they do. I let my eyes linger just briefly on his delicate cheekbones, and the blue eyes that are firmly buried in the book in front of him. Perhaps there is a certain attractiveness to him. 

Even if there wasn't, the thought of achieving such utter dominance over the Head Boy is too tantalising a prospect to pass over. 

No, the question wasn't motivation, but what angle to attack from. 

The straightforward approach was more than unlikely to work; it was doomed to fail automatically. Taping my fingers on the table lightly, I think of other possible ways to win him over - for Percy was not the kind of person to fall into bed with any odd person. Hell, I doubt he'd been in bed with *anyone* that didn't have fiery red hair and freckles. 

Ah, what imagery a Freudian slip can provide. 

4 weeks, to convince the Weasley I'm madly in love with him. Or, perhaps to corrupt his mindset enough that he would throw himself into a fling just to prove to others - no, himself, that he wasn't as dry and unemotional as everyone had him pegged to be. A combination of both could be the winning ticket. 

It would be one hell of a jackpot to win. 

Still, it would be silly not to exhaust all possible avenues. Who knew, perhaps Percy was just dying for a shag, or there was a reason behind the fact all his teachers seemed to love him. It was after all rare for the top student to come by such marks as Percy does so innocently, considering he isn't Ravenclaw. 

Besides, even if this doesn't get me anywhere, it will be worth it to see the expression on his face. 

*

_Percy Weasley._

They are gone, as they always are. They never linger longer than necessary, say more than is needed to either get something done or to humiliate. Only my books remain as companions, and I have yet to strike up a good conversation with them. They listen, but never give advise, even though I turn to them so frequently. It would be nice if they once returned the care and trust I give them. If anyone would. 

They never ask me to accompany them, why would they? They see me as the anti-type when it came to Christmas holidays. They will tolerate me on Christmas day, but that is as far as their goodwill stretches. If only it was due to something deeper than the holiday spirit. 

I should have been surprised when Oliver asked if I wanted to join them, but then, this was Oliver. Oliver, who was always looking out for strays. I certainly fit the description of unwanted mongrel, right down to the shaggy hair. They were going to play some Muggle game that Dean had, and would I like to join them? Even I, at my most cynical, could not ignore the earnestness in Oliver's eyes - he really did want me to come along. Not because I was his latest pity case, not because he felt that perhaps someone being friendly would banish from my mind the sharp comments that Fred had made to me earlier on while we were still eating breakfast. He wanted me to come along because I was *me*. 

The man is clinically insane. Even I wouldn't spend time with myself, given the choice. 

I had lost myself in those eyes, if but for a moment. Everything was daring me to say yes, to forget the books that I brought to the table, to go have fun with my own family, to take the always difficult first step of trying to bridge at least some of the distance that lay between us. It was my own eyes that betrayed me in the end, drifting hopefully to where the twins stood. 

Fool. Nothing more than a fool. Had I really expected to see anything else but distaste on their faces? I should know them far better than to hope that they would actually enjoy the thought of spending time with me. I should have known that they wouldn't want to share the ever popular and fun Oliver Wood with their dour brother, who would only strip the evening of all its fun. 

I should have. 

Oliver didn't see their faces, only the sudden resolve that formed on my own, and the sharp words of dismissal I issued. I don't need to close my eyes to see the hurt that had crossed his face, before he had smiled warmly, promising to catch up with me later so we could study together. 

I wish he wouldn't do that, make me seem as though I am worthy of such attention. At times, he almost manages to convince even me. It will not be long before someone reminds him that I am someone who is to be avoided, not sought out. That there are far better things one can do, that time is best spent on pleasurable pursuits, as opposed to boring lost causes. 

And yet, none have been able to convince him so, in 7 years. I doubt I will ever understand him. 

"So, you want to go somewhere and engage in a session of hot, steamy sex?" 

Only Marcus would start off a conversation like that. I'm actually surprised that he hasn't tried that line before. I look up at him, taking in the far too innocent smile and the eyes dancing with mischief. He enjoys this too much, as he always does. I tilt my head, as though to contemplate his offer. 

"Let me finish this paragraph first," I answer finally, before turning back to my book. He drops into the seat next to me, and I do not have to look at him to feel his surprise. 

"Really?" Half of it is said in jest, but there is a hint of serious there - he cannot tell for sure whether I have made a rare joke, or if I've suddenly become the easiest lay in Hogwarts. If it was in me, I would roll my eyes at the fact Marcus believes his 'charm' is such that I would throw myself at his feet. Just because many are taken in by his looks, doesn't mean I am so superficial. 

"No, Marcus." If this wasn't Marcus I was dealing with, I would swear the soft sigh that came from him was one of honest disappointment. He makes no move to suddenly disappear, and with my already tried patience running thin, I look up from the book I'm desperately trying to convince myself is just as interesting as human companionship. "What *is* it that you want?" 

"You mean besides hot-" 

"Yes, yes, besides that," I respond with the wave of a hand, glad that I'm in such a state of self-wallowing that I can't be bothered blushing. It is his turn to study me now, and I find his gaze unnerving, although it is something I hide well. It is not his usual condescending or mocking glance, both which I know. He is contemplating, not judging. 

Oliver looks at me like that, sometimes. I never know how to deal to it when he does, just like I don't know how to deal with Marcus. He smiles then, a serious, small smile, and I don't know how to deal with that either. 

"You know, I have no idea." I'm startled by the way he says it, almost ruefully. I glance at him suspiciously, wondering what has become of the Marcus I have the displeasure of knowing, or of the trickery that is involved here, somewhere. But I can think of nothing to incriminate him, no falseness - a quick glance around the room shows that the only audience for his possible tactics is a third year in front of the fire place. "I guess I just felt like engaging in some banter with my favourite Gryffindor," The cheeky smile is back, but not the attitude that has always accompanied it. 

And banter, indeed. I certainly wouldn't use such a light word to describe our altercations in the past. Torment might be a better word. 

"Well, I'm sure that like everyone else, you have far better things to do than to spend the morning conversing with me." It comes out stiffly, and I try to ignore the truth behind the words I'd spoken as though they were nothing more than a dismissal. That strange look of his is back, but then he rises, nodding. 

"You're right. Detention with Plume." He groans, and for a moment I actually feel sorry for him - detentions with Plume are rumoured to be worse than being stuck in a bathroom with Moaning Murtle. Then, I remember exactly who it is I'm feeling sorry for. 

"I'm sure Professor Plume wouldn't have given you a detention unless you deserved it," I huff, and for a moment I'm sure he is going to bite back with a more Marcusesque style comment. Instead, he simply grimaces, before getting up to leave. I let my eyes follow him as he heads out of the room, confusion keeping my eyes on the doors of the Great Hall even after he has passed though them. 

What exactly is he up to? 

*

_Marcus Flint._

I smile triumphantly once I'm outside the Great Hall. That went rather well, all things considering. I had been lucky enough to cross Percy while he was in one of his worn moods, when he is too tired to simply automatically dismiss someone who is annoying him. 

"He watched you leave - his eyes didn't leave you for a second." 

I would have growled in annoyance if it wasn't for the fact that Draco's comments are actually of use. For once, I will let it slide that the slimy brat had obviously been spying on me. He does that to all of us, although I'm sure in his mind it makes him part of our group. Perhaps I am still too caught up with my thoughts to care. 

The seed has been planted. Now, to harvest it. 

"You're really good at this, you know." 

Shut up, Malfoy. 


	2. 

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! Although I dub this my trashy trailer park fanfic, it is fun to write. As for some of the comments made predicting how the story is going to go ... Well, they're more interesing to read and ponder than the actual story ^_^. 

**Chapter two: They are made and moulded of things past.**

_Oliver Wood._

I drown myself in the sunlight, letting it flood over me. There is nothing like Winter sun, bringing warmth when all else has given up hope of providing what comes so easy in Summer. Percy has always found it funny that I love to simply stand in front of our large window that looks out onto the grounds below. Maybe it is the way I lean out over the windowsill, head thrown back, eyes closed in a blessed warmth that has seeped in through the skin and into my soul. I've tried to explain how the sun has a cleansing effect, how I always feel fresh and revived. He tries to understand, he really does. 

I have a feeling he's come to the conclusion I'm nuts, however. 

"You know, a shower is a far more effective way to cleanse yourself," Hair still tousled from sleep, my roommate says it with a straight face and a look of disdain, and anyone else would think he was being serious. I don't open my eyes, but smile at his words. 

"You should try it some time, Percy. Then you wouldn't laugh so." He mutters something scathing under his breath, and as I catch most of what he says, I can't help but laugh slightly. His tongue has always been sharp when it comes to wit, but it is something most people rarely see. He won't use it on his brothers, no matter what torment they force upon him. Usually, it is only our own easy banter where he unleashes that tongue, as well as on our 'fellow' Slytherin classmates. 

The calming power of the sun disperses as dark thoughts of a certain Slytherin take control. Marcus is up to something. He always is. I don't doubt that sinister thoughts were responsible for why he was watching us at breakfast yesterday. That Percy had been puzzled by some run in that he had had with Marcus - he hadn't elaborated, just mentioned how 'odd' the boy had been behaving, makes me wonder even more what he is up to. 

Probably plotting on how he is going to steal the cup from us this year, yet again. 

"I don't know why you worry, Oliver. Gryffindor has the best team, they are certain to win the cup this year." 

I love how he does that. I'm a difficult person to read, emotions are something that I've long learnt to keep from my face, although admitingly there are a whole host of them that are only too ready to expose themselves when provoked. Percy however can detect my change of mood easily, and always seems to be dead on when guessing what caused it. It is a trait I share with my roommate, it would be impossible to have gone 7 years without learning each other as well as we know ourselves. Sometimes, I think it worries Percy that I know him so well, although I'm not quite sure why. I know I'm going to have problems adjusting, once we graduate. I've come so used to him always being here, that I'm sure he has actually become a part of me. 

A part of me I don't want to lose. Not yet. 

I drop down onto his bed, spreading our books out in front of me. We always study like this, sprawled across the beds or carpet. People automatically assume that Percy is organised not only in mind but also in everything else he does. They have let themselves forget that he is only 17, occasionally he acts like it. Because of the long hours he spends studying - that we both do, it would be impractical to spend it in some uncomfortable chair. 

That is our rational. We plan to stick with it. 

He adjusts his glasses before he sits himself down opposite me, seriousness taking over his face until I can no longer tell if he is simply determined or grim. He is afraid of failure, and to falter here, so close to the finish, would devastate him. Panic and worry have begun to seep into his daily motions, his every smile or scowl. It is getting harder to make him unwind, so tightly is he coiled. I am not in the best state myself, but compared to Percy, one would think I had just returned from a vacation in the tropics. 

It does not help that the Twins are making his life near unbearable at the moment, just when their taunting couldn't be worse. It is beyond even my reasoning to understand why they would put such extra pressure on him, when he is desperately in need of a break from them. No, he needs more than that. It is their support and confidence that would lift him now, a pat on the back, a warm smile. A 'of course you're going to pass, Perce, you're bloody brilliant!' 

I'd like to believe that they simply haven't realised. As time passes, my thoughts are becoming corrupted, and I'm beginning to think they simply don't care. 

I do, however. And that is still something Percy doesn't seem able to believe. 

His mind has wondered now, his eyes are on the book in front of him, but his mind is not. A surge of what can only be described as jealously flows through me, as I wonder if it is Marcus and his strange behaviour he is thinking of. Even in the confinements of our bedroom, I find myself protective of him. 

It is my turn to lose myself in my thoughts, as I remember our first few years, of a time when Percy was actually in need of protecting. He was the perfect type of child that bullies loved: skinny, a loner, yet with enough attitude that it was a competition to see who could break him first. When we were younger, they had tried to do it with their fists. 

They hadn't counted on me being prepared to do what he couldn't. 

Needless to say, the beatings had mostly stopped after our third year. 

I glance over at him, remembering the times those beautiful, pale cheekbones had been marred by hideous bruises. It was rare for such imperfections to stain his face now, Percy was skilled with his wand, and most knew that if they somehow managed to get past the talented Weasley's defences, they had me to deal with, afterwards. 

Still, there were those who tried. Last year had been host to one such example. We should have known that the parting Slytherins that year would have had one last go, they had been the ones who had been first to try, after all. But, we hadn't, and in the end, there had simply been too fast, outnumbered us just enough ... 

_"Not so much a protector now, are you?" the voice hissed in his ear. He tried to pull himself out of the grasp the two Slytherins had him in, but not even when he kicked one of them hard in the shins could Oliver elect anything more than a yelp. Certainly not his own release. _

"Let go of me, you fools," Percy demanded from across the room, and Oliver could only watch as his friend schooled his face into one of annoyance, banishing whatever fear he might be feeling. He had always been amazed at the utter control Percy could have over his feelings, even at a time like this. "You graduate in three weeks, surely you don't want to be suspended for something this *stupid*?" For a moment it almost seemed that Percy had managed to talk them out of the upcoming assault - surely they *weren't* that idiotic? 

The fist that then buried itself in Percy's stomach, sending the slighter boy to the ground, robbed Oliver of any such hope. He could do nothing but watch as Percy wrapped an arm around himself, his breath coming out stiltedly. But still, in typical Percy fashion, Percy glared up at them in defiance, before launching himself from his crouching position at the closest one, sending the unsuspecting Slytherin flying. Oliver's eyes went wide as Percy raced towards his wand, which had been dropped, forgotten, by a Slytherin after the initial confrontation. 

"Not so fast, you twerp." another fist, this time one that was hard enough to elect a cry from Percy, sent him sprawling to the ground again. 

"Leave him alone, you bastards! Too scared to try that on someone who can pummel you back?" They spared him nothing more than a laugh, before turning back to Percy. They never dared take on someone who had any chance of providing them with some competition, why would they start now? Another well placed punch, and Percy didn't even attempt to get up from his knees, instead hunching over himself, desperately trying to simply breathe. 

He was going to kill them for this. Each and every one of them. First though, he had to try and somehow get free. 

"What is going on here?" Percy was the only one who didn't turn his eyes to the group who had suddenly appeared in the corridor. Oliver found himself becoming grim, as he took in the bunch of mainly 6th year Slytherins. Drake, Bothemius and Marcus were all in his year. The fourth member was younger, with blonde hair and a demeanour of sliminess. 

Not their knights in shinning armour. That was for sure. 

"Would you care to join us?" One of the Slytherins that was holding Percy asked, coldness deeply entrenched in his voice. As 7th years, they would lose all power they had to the small group in front of them, but that power was something, Oliver noticed, that they weren't ready to relinquish quite yet. The blonde looked to stride forward eagerly, but was stopped from advancing by Drake, who merely stuck an arm out in front of the younger boy, never breaking eye contact with the Slytherins in front of them. None of them did. 

"Only the weak use their fists on those too pathetic to fight back." It was Marcus who spoke up this time, and Oliver found himself growling at the other boy's demeaning words. He wasn't the only one, as the other Slytherins sent various scowls and snarls Marcus's way. 

"You calling us weak?" one murmured, lowly. "Not a bright idea, child." 

"You lot wouldn't know a bright idea if your finger was stuck in a light socket," Bothemius drawled. Oliver found himself shoved to the ground, as the 7th year Slytherins advanced on their younger counter parts. 

"The Quidditch pitch, 5 minutes," Drake spoke up, causing them to stall. "Unlike you, we have the intelligence to not get into a fight in the middle of a corridor." The four of them had then turned and left, leaving behind a stunned bunch of Slytherins, not used to having their position challenged. 

"Oliver, Ollie?" His voice brings me back from my memories with a start. He is leaning over the books, studying me to make sure I am all right. 

"I'm fine, Perce," I smile reassuringly, he knows me too well to listen merely to my words when answering such a question. "I was just recalling ..." Stupid. You idiot, Oliver. He frowns as my words drop off, but then his own intelligence provides what my silence did not. He bows his head for a moment, before glancing back up at me. 

"You know, I think that it was entirely worth it, just for how the Twins reacted." He says it with a small smile, and I cannot help but answer with one of my own. We've never spoken of that day, or of the two that followed, that saw Percy confined to the hospital wing with two cracked ribs. The Twins *had* been at their best then, however. They would never know that this had not been the first time that Percy had been subject to such an attack, but they had taken it upon themselves to make sure it was the last. No-one was allowed to hurt their brother. They'd even told a rather bemused Percy that they would protect him themselves, if it came to that. 

"I still don't understand why the others didn't join in," he then muses, and it appears that maybe I'm the only one still uncomfortable talking about this. 

"They never have problem getting involved with fights, that is for sure," I scoff. I have to struggle though to say next part. "Although, they never seem to do what Syntan and his goons did. Marcus and his pals have only ever fought against those who are willing, and of equal numbers." There, I said it. Don't let it be known that Oliver Wood is not fair. Ah, now Percy is looking uncomfortable - he isn't yet willing to differentiate between the Slytherins who have haunted him with their fists, and those who have done it 'merely' with their words. For this, I don't blame him. 

"Have you seen my copy of advanced Muggle studies?" He changes the topic with ease, and I welcome it. For a few moments, we both search the huge pile of books, before he realises that he has left it in the library. It is one of the few subjects we don't share, so I'm not overly surprised that is where he has left it. After promising to be only 5 minutes, he is gone, and I am left to wonder over the fact I'm missing his companionship, already. 

*

_Marcus Flint._

"Percy is on his way, just as you thought he would, Marcus." 

"About fucking time. Thanks, Drake." 

"Anytime." 

*

_Percy Weasley._

The library is practically empty at this time of year. Few care how close it is to exams when there is snow to play in, fun to be had. I envy the way they can simply do that, push it all to the side, even if for only a few hours. It is something I've never been able to do, although Oliver seems determined to teach me. 

Even the librarian is absent this morning, as I walk in. She will surely be back this afternoon, when the few students who do feel the need to study will turn up. 

I hate this library. I always will. 

Only Oliver knows of how much the musky smell haunts me still, or the way the towering bookcases make me claustrophobic. To all others, the library would appear to be my second home, if only because I appear to be the type of person who should love to lounge in a place like this. 

They've never noticed how rare it is for me to come here. Rarer still how often I'm alone when I do. There are too many corners, too many dark corridors that one can easily take advantage of. 

I knew most of them well by the time I had turned 14. 

My book is on the table closest to the exit, the one that, if she was here, would be in the direct eyesight of the librarian. I grab at it quickly, eager to leave this horrid place. 

"God damn it!" The loud curse fills the empty library, and I barely manage to duck out of the way of the book that comes sailing at my head. I purse my lips in annoyance as I pick up the book, intending to return it to its owner with a decent tongue lashing as well. I hesitate just for a moment as I head to the corridor the book came from, but banish past demons from my head as I turn down it. I am the Head Boy, it is my *duty* to attend to such things as this. 

And yes, I know how stupid that sounds. 

I stall for the second time when I see the source of the book, and instantly belittle myself for not having recognised the voice. I put it down to being blinded by the possibility that Marcus Flint would be in a library in the first place; although I'm sure his reasons for avoiding this place are different to my own. 

He is sitting alone at his table, which is completely covered with books and parchment. I take in the four mugs; several of them still half full, as well as the tension that is radiating from him. I don't have to see his eyes to know there are shadows lying there. It appears he has been here for hours. 

"I thought you might want your book back," He looks up in surprise as I gently place the book on his table, slight disapproval staining my voice. He hadn't hear me coming, which is strange for Marcus. 

"Thanks," he mutters, before glaring at the book. He actually looks ready to collapse, and I'm having a hard time tying this Marcus into the one whom everything seems to come so easy for. 

"Having trouble with Muggle Studies?" I ask, for no other reason than to break the silence that was demanding to be broken. It was one of our advanced Muggle Studies books that he had thrown. 

"What do you think?" he growls, and it is enough for me to turn and walk right out of there. Before I can though, he sighs. "I didn't mean for it to come out like that," he gruffly admits, it's the closest thing I've ever heard Marcus come to an apology. "And yeah, I can't seem to get my head round Muggle Studies at the moment, and I *have* to." He tries to hide the esperation in his voice, but in his tiredness, is hardly effective. For he first time, I see the pile of ashes just to the left of one of his books. 

The remains of a howler. 

"Ah yes, good old dad's way of encouraging me." The laugh is devoid of humour, and there is true bitterness in his eyes. "Looks like he was right though, I should never have taken such a pathetic subject, one I was sure to fail as badly at as I do everything." He sounds like he is quoting, and I don't know what to say. Realising he has said too much, he glances away from me, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Just ignore everything that comes out of my mouth at this time of the morning, Weasley. I obviously haven't drunken enough wake-up coffee." Judging by the amount of mugs on his table, I'd be more worried about how much more he plans on drinking. 

"Why don't you get yourself a tutor?" I say it uncomfortably, but it is all I have to offer. What do you say to someone who has always been your nemesis, when they suddenly show themselves to be far more human than you would have liked? 

"Yeah right," He scoffs. "Exactly who would offer to tutor me? I don't suppose you have forgotten that our class isn't exactly overly ... friendly, Percy." I cringe at his words. 'Not friendly' was putting it lightly. The class was dominated by Ravenclaws, although there was one other Gryffindor - Lynda, and a couple of Hufflepuff. Marcus sat with the one other Slytherin in the class, but even they didn't appear to get along. None of us did. According to the Ravenclaws, we were taking up precious time, which would have benefited them more if we weren't there. There was no chance that one of them would offer him any help. Help that Marcus seemed desperately in need of. 

"I've been looking for a study partner for Muggle Studies," I'm trying to decide how quickly it will take me to regret those words. For a moment, Marcus's eyes light up in hope, before sinking back into the bleakness that I had first seen this morning. 

"You prefer to study alone." He replies, his disappointment evident. How do I tell him that there is nothing I hate more? 

"I always study with Oliver, but he doesn't take Muggle Studies." Take it, or leave it, Marcus. But do it quick. Those doubts are starting to make themselves evident. He looks surprised at my admission, but then he smiles wryly, gesturing to a nearby seat. 

"If you can find room, you are more than welcome." 

"Not now." It comes out almost as a command, but then, it always does. I forgot how to talk like a normal person years ago. "You need some rest, you are not going to retain anything if you're too tired." 

He nods, and begins to gather all of his things. This has to be the first time Marcus has ever done something I've said without trying to weasel his way out of it, first. 

"1pm, in the Great Hall?" He looks surprised when I say it. 

"Why not the library?" I smile tightly before heading for the door. 

"I hate this place. I avoid it as much as possible." 

The doubts have startled their assault, full force. How am I going to explain this to Oliver, when I can't even justify it to myself? 


	3. 

Author's notes: For those of you who know my writing habits and are wondering since when did Cairnsy start churning out a new chapter of *anything* every couple of days, especially when it usually takes her at least a month, I finished four chapters of this before I decided to send it to my beta to see if it was worthy of being read by anyone. The next chapter should be out tomorrow, and the 5th one is actually written, although it is currently on a disk that I can't use at the moment. 

Thanks for the lovely reviews, even though this is hardly deserving of them! On the note that Marcus was held back a year, I've always been of the belief that he repeated his *sixth* year, for no other reason than it gives him two years in the same classes as Oliver and Percy, as opposed to one *evil grin* 

**Chapter three: Though this be madness, yet there is method in't.**

_Marcus Flint._

Percy's greatest problem is that he is actually a good guy, even though he tries rather desperately to hide it from everyone else. I knew that if I pushed the right buttons, everything would work out as perfectly as I had planned. 

I hadn't counted on the howler coming from father. Who WOULD expect to receive one, at 5 am in the morning? But then, this is my wonderful father, who surely would have gotten a huge amount of glee out of the racket it caused upon its arrival. Nothing would have pleased him more, than making sure the entire house heard his thoughts on his thick, mindless son. 

Sorry, dad. Your owl delivered it while I was in the library, setting up one of my grand schemes. Drake was the only one who was there to here your words of love and approval. I'd suggest not coming down to Hogsmeade for the weekend anytime soon, because chances are Drake will smack you one. 

You can bet on me doing nothing to stop him. 

So, the 'accidental' meeting up with Percy hadn't been as much for show as it should have been, and I didn't have the control I should of, although Drake thinks I did a bang on job. Once Percy left, neither of us spoke of the fact that I had said more than I had intended, and that there was little fake about the state of mind I had projected. Father's letter had been about Muggle Studies, which I had taken against his wishes, and it had been about my less than stellar grades for the subject. He was certainly taken a perverted pleasure over the difficulty I had with the class. but then, he always had. 

Yeah, well. Fuck him. It wasn't as though I was planning on returning home anytime soon. 

"Looks like the lovebirds have had a tiff," Marlena whispers to me as we finish off the last of our lunch. I turn firstly to Bathemius and Drake, surprised when I find them engaged in what can only be described as a tame conversation. 

"Not those two, you idiot. Our favourite Gryffindor boys." I'm not the only one who likes to study others; it is a skill that Marlena has down to a tee. I glance over quietly at the Gryffindor table, and instantly pick up on what Marlena was talking about. Percy is sitting with a rigidness that makes me wonder if he has a pole stuck up his arse, and Oliver is, to be frank, not much better. 

"Gee, I wonder if they had a little fight about me?" I flutter my eyelashes, causing Draco to choke on his sandwich. Idiot. 

"You know, I might just have to change my bet," Drake says around a mouthful of sausage. "He's been like putty in your hands so far, Marky baby." 

"That is what happens when you don't have a bit of faith, you lose out big time." I glance over at the Gryffindor table again, which has cleared out with the exception of Percy during our little conversation. "Now shove off, the lot of you. I have some seducing to do." With a fair bit of grumbling, they are gone. I'm sure they would have preferred to have watched this time, but it is something I simply can't risk. 

It is another twenty minutes before he approaches me. By this time, the Great Hall is practically empty, but he still scans the room quickly, most likely to make sure there are no other Slytherins hiding in the corridors. 

"Why don't we go sit by the fire?" No greeting, no hello. He's nervous, and that works to my advantage. I nod, gathering my books and following him, surprised when he walks past the table there and collapses instead into one of the bean bags, dropping his books onto the carpet in front of him. 

"I can't study for any length of time at a table," he offers when he notices my confused gaze, the tips of his ears blushing slightly at being caught during a un-Percy like moment. It isn't the first time he has surprised me, today. I have a feeling there are going to be many more occasions, if I am going to win this bet. 

I settle down into the beanbag next to him, and we spend the first hour simply categorising what is important and what is not. He is good at this, and he has a patience about him that I wouldn't have normally associated with him. Chances are, he's had a lot of experience helping his younger brothers. 

"I wanted to apologise for earlier," I finally say, making it seem as though it is an admission I am loathed to make, but need to, all the same. Nothing will make him more suspicious than if I suddenly become wonderful and friendly to him over night. "It's just, I haven't been myself lately. I don't do pressure well." Flash him a meek smile, Flint. Brilliant. 

"I take it your father doesn't approve then, of you taking Muggle Studies." He asks it stiffly, this is new ground he is treading, being civil with me. I bow my head, hiding the fact I'm grinding my teeth. Not this, Percy. Anything but this. 

"Yeah, you could say that." It comes out through clenched teeth. "Your father must love the fact you're taking it." Change of topic is a good thing, for me, anyway. For a moment, Percy freezes, before a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes forms. 

"Yeah, you could say that," he echoes, but doesn't elaborate. Perhaps the perfect family isn't quite so perfect? Now there is a novel thought. We drink the rest of our hot chocolate in silence; he flicks through one of his books while I watch him out of the corner of my eye, wondering what he is thinking. He doesn't notice, but then, few people do. 

"Why are you staring at me?" He suddenly says in exasperation, turning from the book. I'm too stunned to reply instantly, and it takes time for my brain to catch up to my mouth. 

"I was just thinking, Weasley," I finally start. I know he must be thinking about this, and it is what I should be appearing to think about as well. "How is it, that I've found myself in front of a fire, sipping hot chocolate and actually learning more than I have all year, with someone whom I've always considered my enemy? Stranger yet, why am I enjoying it?" Bingo. My words startle him, and he drops his eyes back to his book. 

"Don't be stupid, Marcus," he mutters, not daring to take his eyes away from the words dancing in front of him. "You don't have to pretend to be enjoying this, or my company. I said I'd help you, and I am." 

This is just too easy. 

"Cut yourself some slack, Percy. You're actually a pretty decent guy when you aren't running your mouth off about rules and regulations." He peaks up at me in disbelief, and I smile widely back at him. "Now see, if you only talked more about computers and Muggle customs, you'd be the most popular bloke in the school!" He snorts, which gives me the perfect opportunity to grab the book from his hand. "Now, which chapter is dedicated to Muggle sexual practises ..." 

The cushion slams into the side of my head before I've flicked through half a dozen pages. Percy is scowling at me, but a smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. His scowl deepens as he tries to starve the smile off, ultimately succeeding. 

"You are a real brat, you know?" 

"We're going to be best friends, aren't we, beautiful?" He shots me an iced glare at the nickname, which brings me to the very easy decision of calling him that whenever possible. Nothing like softening him up. 

"Lets just get back to the books, shall we?" It is a suggestion I have no problem with, I've already scored several points. Who would know that it would take a suggestion by Draco of all people, to come up with the basis of a great idea? But now isn't the time to associate myself with such thoughts, as I turn obediently to the books in front of me. We spend another couple of hours like that, him teaching, me learning. And again, I'm surprised at how much I'm actually taking in. As I stand up to leave, I smile down at him, laughing inside at how surprised he still is when I do. 

"I, thank you, Percy. I mean it. After this morning-" I wave an arm out aimlessly, "-well, I guess you could say I was about ready to give up. So, thanks." I'm not willing to admit the small ounce of truth in those words, but the admission, and the rather impressive way in which I presented them, obviously seems genuine to Percy, who doesn't know quite what to say. 

This time I don't need Draco to tell me that Percy's eyes remain on me the entire time I walk through the Great Hall. 

*

_Percy Weasley._

This is madness. Utter madness, and I don't understand it one bit. I *despise* not understanding. Without understanding, you cannot have control. 

I thought I knew Marcus, I DO know Marcus. Just because he is suddenly slightly more human doesn't wipe out the fact that he has always been a prat. One who has never reigned in either his dislike or his distaste for me. 

No. Marcus is still Slytherin, still the same person who has always tried to knock me off the pedestal they all put me on. Only now, a slither of grey has slipped in, and perhaps he isn't the all-encompassing evil that I've always allowed myself to believe Slytherins are. It is a Gryffindor prejudice I've never offered resistance to, although intellectually I know that you cannot brand one group of people under the one heading and expect them to all be the same, to be as shallow as a superficial social climber. 

Sometimes, what you know to be intellectually, is overruled by lesser things. Things such as a childhood fear, things such as memories of a past that should be forgotten by now. It becomes easy to ignore the individual aspects of them, when the collective ones are so overpowering. 

Black and white is far easier to understand. Uncomplicated. Safe. They are both uncorrupted by other colours, are solid in their singleness. Nothing else is needed to make black and white, no other colours need to be mixed together to form them. There are no layers, no flickers of depth, no brilliant highlights. 

I'm drowning in my own sea of grey, but everything else needs to be one or the other. Perfect or tainted. Success or failure. Friend or bitter enemy. Good or bad. Simplistic. Dealable. 

Perhaps delusional is the best word. 

I thought I knew Marcus. And I do. But it is only the black I know, not the individual pixels that make him that way. I know nothing of what makes him what he is; have never cared to know him past his Slytherin nature. 

I still don't. But I'm not sure I have the choice, anymore. 

His father is one such pixel I had no idea existed. The black and white is back again, hypocritically so. Too caught up in the blackness of my own family relations, I've somehow come to the conclusion that everyone else's is white, perfectly happy and devoid of careless brothers and hurtful comments. 

There seems to be very little that is white about Mr Flint. Perhaps it was merely teenage rebellion that burned with such bitterness in Marcus's eyes, whenever the subject turned to his father. Perhaps the obvious tension between the two has little to do with the elder Flint, and is instead a result of the horrid behaviour of the younger. He would be a difficult child for anyone to have to deal with. 

And yet, I can't rid myself of the desperation that also lingered in those eyes, the self-mocking. And yes, the hurt. I could live without knowing that Marcus could hurt. Slytherins aren't supposed to feel pain. 

Only their victims are. 

I shouldn't care, not really. I know that others would certainly feel glee over such knowledge, and I have every right to think that Marcus deserves to be on the receiving end for once. But I can't. 

I've been there, done that. Didn't buy the program. 

So, perhaps two new pixels to Marcus's canvas. The picture still remains the same, perhaps just a tad duller than before. But he is still Marcus. 

Make that three new pixels. For, just as I can't forget the look in those eyes, I also can't rid myself of the image of him studying with intense determination, the grim way in which he threw himself completely into our study section. How he was for once concerned more with the task, and not ways in which he could humiliate or hurt. His humour is almost fun, when it isn't laced with barbs. 

If the study period hadn't have been with Marcus, I might have even been enjoying myself. Perhaps that is a new pixel uncovered of my own. Or, perhaps it is just that I am unused to anyone but Oliver relaxing around me. It is a rather sad reflection of myself that tutoring someone who isn't reluctant or fighting me every step of the way almost counts as a form of social interaction. 

"So, how did it go?" 

I'm not sure how long I've been gazing into the fire, nor how long Oliver has been slouched comfortably in the beanbag that Marcus had vacated sometime ago. For a moment, I'm drawn to the way the fire highlights his hair a rich brown, occasionally playing on the rare blond streak. 

"It went well, he seems fully committed to this." 

Oliver snorts, before handing me a mug of hot chocolate. I hadn't even noticed he had brought me a drink, something I blame on the fire, definitely on the fire. We stay like that in silence, slowly sipping our drinks. With anyone else, such silence would make me feel edgy, but this is Oliver. I'm more comfortable with him than when I'm even on my own. 

"You know, he is Slytherin." He breaks the silence, only for it to return when I don't reply. He's worried that I'm setting myself up to be hurt, he always is. 

"You don't need to protect me, anymore, Oliver." I finally say, my voice quiet as I study the fire over the rim of my mug, not looking at him. "I'm no longer 12, the big bad guys are not quite so big, anymore." Still bad, just in a different way. I know him well enough to predict his line of thought, and I'm countering it before he has a chance to express it. "That was a year ago, Oliver. And when was the last time before that? When I was 14?" More silence, although this time it isn't comfortable, it is too heavy to even begin to be close to that. 

"I just don't want you getting hurt." This time even the pull of the fire can't prevent me from looking over at him, from almost losing myself in his concerned eyes. "You're too important." His wry words startle me, and my eyes widen slightly. Important? I don't know of anyone who considers me as such. And did he mean too important in general, or to him? How could he even begin to think such a thing? Why was I? 

"Oliver, I -" 

"Here is your 'Muggle Religions' book, Percy. I must have picked it up accidentally." I'm not sure who is more surprised by Marcus's interruption, Oliver or myself. His words are cool, disinterested, and I can't help but notice the different way he acts when someone else is around. 

It is something I do. 

I don't reply, however, simply nod instead. Marcus continues on briefly, planning our next session, but I can barely comprehend it enough to store the information away for later, my mind is too far elsewhere to hold an actual conversation with the other boy. By the time he leaves, Oliver is practically growling, and the air between us is tense again. 

"Don't say it," I mutter, glaring at him. "He may be a prat, but he does need help. And he's trying." 

"Percy, have you forgotten that the guy is a creep? I mean, fuck! He's made your life hell since the very first day of school!" 

"So have the twins," I reply coldly. "But I suppose they have every right to, considering they are family?" I spit the last word out. "Are you sure your problem with me tutoring hasn't got more to do with the fact that *you* hate him?" 

"Oh, that certainly plays a part," he has no problem admitting as much. "What you seem to have forgotten, is that you hate him as well." 

"I believe that this is my decision, Oliver. Give me one reason why you feel you should have any say in this." 

"Because I'm your friend." And just like that, any anger I'm feeling depletes. It is rare for us to argue, but when we do, it always leaves me feeling washed out. "I don't like this, Percy," he then adds quietly. "I can't pretend to. Marcus is and has always been a jerk. He doesn't deserve your attention. Not when he treats everyone like dirt." 

I can't explain to him the pixels, or how I'm beginning to feel guilty about the blessed ignorance of prejudice I've allowed myself to wallow in for so long. That is something between Marcus and myself, and is a madness that even I don't understand. Not yet. I haven't even decided if it is something I want to. 

He sighs, and I know he is resigned to my decision, his words obviously having little effect. 

"I still think he is a jerk," he mutters, but this time it is said with a mock glare. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you were conducting an illicit romance with him." He bursts out laughing at the look of utter disbelief I must be wearing on my face, dodging quickly out of the way as I throw the nearest cushion at him. 

"10 points from Gryffindor," I announce primly as he continues with his gwaffles, this time from the floor. "For disrespecting the Head Boy." 

"Oh, come on, Perce - I hear he's quite good in bed!" 

"15 points." 

"Hell, you're serious, aren't you?" he chokes out between what is suspiciously beginning to sound like very unmanly giggles. He doesn't see my tiny smile. 

"Deadly." 

"15 points? Do you know how hard that is for ME to get back for the house?" 

"Well, you better win the Quidditch cup this year, then." 

"You better start take notes, *then*. I bet Marcus talks in his sleep - you could find out all of their strategies." 

"20 points." 

"Percy!" 

* 

_Marcus Flint._

This is a complication I could do without, although it certainly adds a certain spice to the game, and raises the stakes that much higher. I hadn't been thinking initially of that of course, hadn't been able to get passed the initial anger of watching the two of them chat, Oliver dragging his beanbag over so that they were almost as close as lovers. 

Or, potential lovers. 

The anger had become almost blinding when the situation became suddenly intimate, and I was gone from my place at the door to Percy's side before I'd even realised it. I was planning on playing the book card later, but the situation demanded it. 

It looks like I had competition for Percy's affections. What I couldn't understand was, why? Oliver certainly doesn't have to settle for the geek, if the way half the school drools revoltingly over him is any indication. 

_Looks like the two lovebirds have had a tiff. _

Ah. So that was why Marlena had bet against me. She'd already seen this particular obstacle. But that was all it was, an obstacle. 

Now, how to remove Oliver from the equation. And if that was impossible, how to restrict the impact he could possibly have. 

Oh, this was definitely going to be fun. 


End file.
